Lessons in Life, Lessons of Love

By Rich Mies

It is 1967 in rural Minnesota and Mikey Hennen is a soon-to-be sixth grader who is about to bond with three people who will greatly influence his life amid an ever-changing world. Sister Marie Agnes is a Bahamian nun who opens Mikey’s eyes to the world around him by teaching him about race, human relations, and the joys of the written word and music. From his great-grandmother, Mikey discovers the importance of family and of living a full life. After his mother’s cousin, Peter, befriends Mikey, he soon discovers they share a mutual love for baseball, and that Peter is eager to enlist in the military to help win the Vietnam War. As the war debate is brought home, Mikey must muddle through a sea of change, all while clinging to the one certainty he knows will always be there for him—baseball. In this coming-of-age tale, a boy must lean on his great-grandmother, a Vietnam-bound cousin, and a Bahamian nun for guidance while struggling with growing pains and the challenges of his time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Sep 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781483473505

Book preview

YOU!

PROLOGUE

LOOKING BACK

It happens every spring. My mind takes me back to a time when life, at least for me, was less complicated. My memory harks back to a simpler time, a time when my biggest concern was getting enough kids together for a game of ball on a hot summer afternoon.

In particular, my memories focus in on a fifteen-month span that included my sixth-grade school year. This was a period of time in which I began to become aware of the huge world beyond the idyllic setting of the peaceful small town of Faulkner. For me, a wave of change started in the spring of 1967, a time rife with turmoil and transformation on a global level and a time that saw much change in my life. It was the year in which I took my first steps toward manhood.

This is the world of my existence in that spring of 1967: school was winding down for the summer and baseball season was starting up. I knew that come fall I would be old enough to take one of those first small steps, as sixth-graders were allowed to be altar boys.

Little did I know how much my world would change in the next fifteen months. As 1967 morphed into 1968, there would be seismic changes in America, culturally and politically. Those changes would reverberate throughout the entire nation, from the President of the United States all the way down to a tow-haired boy in Faulkner, Minnesota, on the threshold of adolescence.

I was a young boy in a small town in rural America, adrift in this sea of change and approaching the threshold of puberty, itself a time of transformation. Around me, storms brewed over the war I had been taught to support and believe in. Additionally, my lily-white homogenized world was about to be infused with color and diversity.

But I was not alone. Three people played a major role in helping me develop the tools to cope with the changes in the world. They helped me chart my course through the confusing and at times exhilarating path to manhood. Their combined wisdom, understanding and guidance helped me make sense of the madness around me called Life.

I entered the sixth-grade in the fall of 1967, against the backdrop of a country being jolted by change. Many days that year, it seemed to me as if everything around me was changing. While I grew and adapted with the world, at times it felt as if everything I ever invested faith in was shifting and spinning.

Through it all, I clung to the one certainty I knew would not change: baseball.

1

FIRST CHANGES

As small towns go, there really wasn’t anything unique about Faulkner. In the 1960 census, the first in which I was enumerated, Faulkner was home to 858 people, nearly all of them Catholic and descendants of German immigrants. Physically, the town was a little over a mile from north to south, and a tad less than a mile from east to west. Its residents were of three groupings. There were merchants who owned the mom-and-pop businesses that filled the community’s business district, as well as the families of their employees. There were families whose breadwinner worked at either the cheese plant or one of the two lumberyards in town. The third and largest of the groups was retired farmers from the area, who had sold their farm, often to an offspring, and retired to the city life in Faulkner.

Like most small towns, Faulkner had a variety of small businesses, all of the mom-and-pop genre. Businesses often passed from father to son. The business district was primarily centered on the middle four blocks of Main Street, which connected Highway 50 with the railroad tracks. Main Street became Country Road 2 as it exited town and continued north. This was the lifeline that tied Faulkner to Clear Springs, a burg of over two thousand that sat ten miles north. Clear Springs was home to one of the world’s largest granite quarries. More importantly to Faulknerites, it was home to St. Benedict High, the Catholic high school that most youths from the surrounding area, including Faulkner, matriculated.

The two anchors of the town were its faith and its baseball. Faith in Faulkner centered on the Catholic parish of St. Boniface. Coupled with family and baseball, the church formed the holy trinity of life in Faulkner. These were the mainstays of daily life and of the community as a whole.

The parish was founded in 1889, about the same time that the village of Faulkner was incorporated, as church and community were intertwined from their earliest moments. Spiritually, the parish encompassed almost everyone living in Faulkner as well as most of the farm families in a roughly three-mile radius of town. Physically, the parish consisted of four buildings: the church, the school, the rectory and the convent. This complex was located at the southwestern end of Main Street.

The town’s baseball diamond stood on the northeast end of Main Street. A large wooden grandstand towered behind home plate and two smaller bleachers sat along the first and third base sidelines. An eight-foot high chain link fence ran from each dugout to the backstop area. Behind home plate, the fence grew to twenty feet tall, protecting those sitting in the main grandstand. A white picket fence ringed the remainder of the playing field, separating the outfield from the farm fields that abutted the ball field. Like most small-town ballparks, Clippers Stadium was meticulously maintained. The grass was watered and mowed at least once a week. The infield was raked frequently even on days between games. Each spring, the concession stand, dugouts and wooden fences were given a fresh coating of whitewash.

These two pillars of the community – its church and its ballpark – formed the bookends of its business district. While businesses might come and go along Main Street, the two constants of church and ball would remain unchanging and permanent. The church’s spire would always stand tall like a beacon and the ball field would always be the place where Faulknerites of all beliefs and persuasions could unite as one and root for the home team.

Church and love of baseball were also the cornerstones of most young boys’ lives in small towns like Faulkner. Many dreamt of growing up to play for the local nine. Some even audaciously aspired to greater glory, hoping to someday play for the Minnesota Twins. Failing that, they would settle for playing for one of the other nineteen professional teams. More than a few had thoughts of joining the priesthood, although this would mean giving up secular dreams of baseball.

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In mid-March 1967, we had the annual Minnesota phenomenon of a major snowstorm coinciding with the high school state basketball tournament. Nearly two feet of fluffy white powder was dumped on most of the lower two-thirds of the state, closing schools and clogging roads for the better part of two days. The storm had perfect timing, as it kept us home from school both Thursday and Friday, and thus we were able to watch all the tourney games on television.

To me, the basketball tourney, while it was highly entertaining, was more important as a harbinger of the upcoming baseball season. By the time the tourney started, the major leaguers had reported to Spring Training in exotic Florida towns. In just a few weeks, the season would begin, a sure sign that winter was over and summer was just around the corner.

The basketball tourney storm was winter’s last gasp, a final squall before giving way to spring. By early April, the last winter snow was melting. The grass was tentatively turning green and the trees were beginning to bud. Farmers were tilling the fields, preparing for planting. Nothing seemed extraordinary about this spring; nothing set it apart from the other springs of my young life.

Then I received the first two small jolts that would signal the beginning of change in my world. The peaceful easy life of childhood I had enjoyed thus far would soon be replaced with the concerns and trials of adolescence.

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Like many of the sons of owners of businesses in Faulkner, my dad and his brother Anton worked for their father, with the tacit understanding that, when Grandpa retired, the boys would buy his business and keep it running. There was an unstated expectation that their sons would eventually follow Dad and Anton into the business as well. At the age of eleven, I was the oldest of what might become the next generation of owners.

Grandpa Mike, for whom I was named, was the son of an immigrant farmer. He borrowed money from his father to start an implement dealership in 1920, agreeing to be a sales agent for John Deere. The venture proved to be successful and by 1922, he had paid off the loan and felt his business was stable enough for him to marry. The following year, his father died and Grandpa inherited the family farm. Unable to both farm and run the business, he rented out the farm, which proved to be a profitable venture. Many farmers struggled to keep their land during the late 1920s and early 1930s; Grandpa was able to buy several of them at foreclosure prices and rented them out, often to the previous owner. At the peak of his acquisition venture, he owned twelve farms, all within a five-mile radius of Faulkner. During World War II, Grandpa was approached by a representative of Phillip-Morris tobacco, inquiring about the feasibility of raising tobacco in Minnesota. It turned out to be not only feasible but also very successful. Grandpa bought a building on Main Street to use to dry the tobacco before shipping it to Phillip-Morris. By the time I came along, he had sold all but one of the farms and the tobacco business was scaled back, as farmers were finding it more profitable to grow corn and other grains rather than tobacco.

In 1953, when my dad came back from fighting in Korea and started working for Grandpa, a representative from Ford Motor Company approached them about adding a Ford dealership to their John Deere business. Dad was enthusiastic about the idea and Grandpa went along on the condition that Dad ran the car and truck portion of the business. Two years later, Anton came on board and oversaw the John Deere portion. By 1967, they had added repair service for all brands of cars and farm machinery, and did body work on damaged cars. Grandpa still ran the business, but Dad and Anton oversaw most of the day-to-day operations.

One Monday in early April, Dad came home from work as usual at 5:45 sharp. He stopped in the kitchen, gave Mom a peck on the cheek, and proceeded to fix himself a Manhattan. Armed with his cocktail, he went to the front door and brought in the evening St. Cloud Daily Times, our regional daily paper. With his drink and paper, he sat down in his recliner, read the paper and passed me each section as he finished. I read the sports section thoroughly, and skimmed the national and world news. Once Dad finished his reading and his drink, he got up and walked to the table in the kitchen, where Mom, with impeccable timing, was finishing loading the table with our meal.

While we ate, he inquired about my day in school and asked Matty, my younger brother, about his day. Then came the bombshell. Mikey, Mother asked me if you were old enough to mow her lawn this summer, he said. I said you could handle the job. She wants you to mow it twice a week, and will pay you fifty cents per time. We’re going over there after we finish here and she will instruct you on exactly how it is to be done.

By Mother, he meant his mother, Grandma Adeline. She and Grandpa Mike lived on Main Street, four doors south of the church. Grandma Hennen was fastidious about her lawn. She had one of the most beautiful lawns in town, as well as magnificent flower gardens, highlighted by rose bushes that she cultivated.

Melvin, are you sure Mikey can mow that lawn? Mom asked.

I don’t see why not. He was able to mow ours last fall.

But your folks’ yard is bigger than ours…

Well, Mikey’s bigger now than he was in September.

"But still. You know how…particular…your mother is about her yard."

"Yes, Delores, I am aware of how particular my mother is. Mikey can handle the job. Right, son?"

Yes, sir, I muttered. For fifty cents, I can do the job, no sweat. I paused, considered things and then added, Will I be getting fifty cents for doing our yard too?

No, Dad said, laughing. As your mother pointed out our yard is smaller than Mother’s so you will continue getting twenty-five cents and free room and board here.

Disappointed at failing my first meager attempt at labor negotiations, I was nevertheless excited about dramatically increasing my income by mowing my grandparents’ lawn.

After dinner, Matty and I did the dishes, a chore we both loathed but couldn’t avoid. It seemed like we did everything around the house. I mowed the lawn, we dusted and vacuumed the living room twice a week and made our beds every morning.

Once dishes were done, Dad and I drove over to his parents’ house on Main Street. In the early 1950s, Grandma wanted a house in town, so they bought a plot near the church and she had the house built to her specifications. It was a one-story rambler, with an attached garage and stood on the top of a long sloped front yard. The front façade was in black and grey granite from the Clear Springs Granite Company, as was the fireplace and mantel in the living room.

Grandma and Grandpa were waiting for us. After some casual chitchat, Grandma took me out to the garage, where she introduced me to her lawn mower, a top of the line Toro push mower with an attached bag. First, with the bag on, mow the front yard up and down from the house to the street, she instructed, her voice sounding a bit like Sergeant Carter, the drill sergeant on Gomer Pyle USMC, only with a lady’s voice. Be careful not to step in the front flower bed or to nick the trees.

Then you go to the back yard. With the bag on, you go in a circular route from the outer edge inward. Make sure the bag faces away from the flowerbed! The bag could easily damage my roses, so you must be very careful around them. Once you’re done in back, you remove the bag and empty its contents here – pointing to a compost heap on the edge of her backyard flower garden – and then you do the front yard again, without the bag, but you go from north to south this time. Be careful not to shoot cuttings in the front flowerbed or to step in it. Then you turn the motor off, put the bag back on and return it to the shed. Finally, you sweep any cuttings off the sidewalks and the driveway. Any questions?

I gulped, trying to remember it all. No ma’am, no questions. Well, maybe one. Why do I cut the front yard twice?

Michael, that is a good question. I want it done like that so the lawn looks professionally done to all that drive by on Main Street. So it looks like the ballpark at your Twins stadium in the Cities.

I nodded and understood what she was saying. I had always wondered why her lawn looked like the same crews that tended to the grass in major league stadiums had manicured it and now I knew her secret.

Good. I will call your mother when it is time for you to come and mow for the first time. If the weather holds, that could be late next week. Your father informed you the pay? Is it fair?

Dad interrupted. Yes Mother, it is more than fair. Right, Mikey?

I nodded and smiled. Twice a week meant a whole dollar a week! I’m going to be rich!! This was going to be awesome, I thought.

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Later that week, Matty and I were in the back yard, playing catch. Mr. Klein, our neighbor on the west side, was out raking his lawn. He motioned me to come over. Mikey, I noticed you were able to mow your dad’s lawn pretty good by yourself last fall, he said. I was wondering what it would cost me to have you mow mine this summer.

My face lit up. Unless I was mistaken, Mr. Klein was offering me a chance to make more money. Well, sir, my dad pays be a quarter each time and Grandma Adeline is going to pay me fifty cents.

Sounds like you’ve got a little business started there, young man, he chuckled. You are just like your grandpa. How about I pay you fifty cents each time, since my lawn is a little bigger than your dad’s and it’s hillier too. Would that be fair?

Oh boy! That sounds very fair! You got a deal, Mr. Klein!

Like a true businessman, I shook his hand, sealing the deal. I ran into the house to share the good news with Mom, who let me call Dad at work to tell him, too.

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The second jolt came a couple of days later. At the dinner table, Dad informed us that he and Mom had something to discuss with Matty and me after we ate.

I was eleven and Matty– short for Mathias – was almost nine. Like most brothers that close in age, we got along well with a few scrapes and battles from time to time. While we did the dishes, I asked Matty if he could think of anything either of us had done to get us in trouble, and he couldn’t think of anything. I mentally replayed the day and could not remember an instance of us fighting or even arguing, so I was pretty sure we were not going to be punished. Not certain, but pretty sure.

We finished the dishes and went into the living room. Dad was in his recliner, watching TV and the two of us boys sat on the couch, not sure what to expect. Mom was finishing up in the laundry room. We squirmed some, impatient and a little nervous.

Finally, Mom joined us. She stood next to Dad and took his hand. Boys, your mother and I have big news for you, Dad began. We don’t want you blabbing this all over town, though. Is that understood?

We nodded, still not knowing what it was we were not to blab.

There’s going to be some big changes around the house soon, Dad continued and Mom’s face lit up. Your mother is going to have a baby. She is due this fall, after school starts up for you guys. So she is going to need your help around the house and yard. I expect you two to pitch in without complaining. Any questions?

I raised my hand and then realized I wasn’t in school. Will it be a boy or a girl? Where is it going to sleep? Matty and I shared a large bedroom on the second floor. There was another room up there but that was reserved for guests staying the night.

Dad laughed. We don’t know yet if it will be a boy or a girl. All we’re hoping is that it will be as healthy as you two. For a while, the baby will sleep in a crib in our bedroom. We will move the washer and dryer to the basement and turn that room into a nursery, which should take care of sleeping arrangements for a couple of years.

He smiled and squeezed Mom’s hand. Remember to keep quiet about this for now, but also remember to help your mother around the house. I need to get dressed and go to the Legion meeting tonight. See you boys in the morning. Dad rose and left the room.

Mom sat down facing us with a smile on her face. This is such happy news, guys. Your dad and I have wanted another baby for a long time now and finally God has blessed us with one. It’s going to be a busy summer, but soon the baby will be here and then things will be even busier.

Suddenly I had a question, actually a whole bunch of questions. Mom, will I still be able to play ball this summer? What about our vacation to the lake with Aunt Karrie and her family?

Aunt Karrie was Mom’s older sister. Every year for as long as I could remember, our two families had rented side-by-side cabins at a resort on one of the many lakes in Minnesota.

Mom chuckled. Mikey, you will still be able to play as much baseball as you want this summer; you too, Matty. And yes, we will still be going to the lake with the Bauers. Your father and Uncle Ted enjoy that week as much as you kids do.

I was relieved. When Dad said there would be changes around the house, I was worried that maybe those changes would mess up all my fun plans.

Still, I was not too keen on the idea of a little sister. I mean, that would be a girl and out of the girls I knew, only one was halfway good at baseball. The rest were all into dolls, dresses, and playing goofy games like house or school.

I’m sure you boys will love this baby as much as we will, Mom said. And you will love it as much as you love each other.

Yes, ma’am, we responded in unison.

I couldn’t help thinking, as long as it’s a boy we will.

A short time later, the back doorbell rang. It was Sam Scheffler, my best friend and our next-door neighbor and his younger brother Danny. Hey, can you and Matty come out and play? Sam asked.

Yeah we can, but we have to stay in our yard or yours.

The four of us threw a baseball back and forth in a four-way version of catch Sam had invented. We formed a square and tossed the ball to one another; anyone dropping the ball was out and we kept on until there was a winner. Most times, I won, or was second to Sam.

After two games, we decided it was getting too dark to see the ball well. We all stood around by the swing set in our yard. I looked at Sam and said, I’ve got a secret if you guys promise not tell anyone.

Matty hissed, Mikey, we’re not supposed to blab, remember?

It’s not blabbing if we tell Sam and Danny and they swear not to tell anyone, is it Sam?

Nope, it’s not. And we have a secret to tell you guys, too. You go first.

OK. Mom and Dad just told us that Mom is going to have a baby after school starts. What’s your secret?

Sam laughed. No way, really? Our secret is our Mom is having one too, but in August.

All four of us laughed at the irony of this. Matty piped up, But I still think none of us can blab any of this to anyone else.

We all nodded in agreement. Sam looked at me and asked if we wanted a brother or a sister.

Mom and dad said they don’t care, I said. But I know this much, it better be a boy.

Sam nodded in agreement. That’s how I feel too.

I shot Matty a glance. Don’t you be blabbing that to Mom or Dad either, twerp.

2

GRANDMA

PAULINE’S STORY

It was the morning of the last Monday in April, only a little over a month until the start of summer vacation. I just had to survive five more weeks of school, and then it would be a glorious three months of rest, relaxation and, most importantly, baseball; lots and lots of baseball. There would be time outs to watch the Clippers, of course, and the Twins on TV, too, and maybe a few of the Faulkner Legion team’s games. I would be playing lots of baseball too. The only way I would get better is to keep playing, and if I was ever going to make it as a pro baseball player, I needed to practice, practice, practice.

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was 7:45 and time to be heading out the door for Mass, which was the first period of our school day. I quickly shoveled the last of my oatmeal into my face, and motioned for Matty to do the same. The Scheffler brothers would be knocking on our door any second and the four of us would walk the four blocks to school together. Sam was in my grade, Danny was two years behind us and Matty was a grade behind him.

Mikey, chew your food before you swallow, Mom nagged as the back doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of the Schefflers. There’s Sam and Danny. Time to get to school, boys. Be sure to hurry home after school. I’ve got to take Matty to the dentist.

Yes, ma’am, we groaned.

She bent down and gave each of us a quick kiss on the head. We grabbed our books and coats and head to the door. Hurry along now, and have a good day.

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The school day flew by, and Matty and I were home. We had a spelling test and a math test, both of which were almost too easy, Mom, I said, relating my day to my mother. Sister Padua makes her tests sound like they’re going to be so tough and all, but then they are so easy, it’s funny.

Mom laughed and said, Don’t get overconfident, Mikey. Next year you will be in sixth-grade and tests might not be so easy. She paused as she slipped her coat on. Get in the car, boys, I don’t want Matty to be late for his appointment. Mikey? I’m going to drop you off at Grandma Pauline’s while we’re gone. Promise me you will behave for her.

Grandma Pauline Geis was actually my great-grandmother, my Mom’s grandmother. Aw Mom, do I have to go there? Why can’t I stay home and do my homework or go next door to the Schefflers?

Grandma Pauline enjoys having you visit for one thing, and you’re too young to stay home alone yet. Maybe next year.

But Mom…

No buts, Mikey. It won’t kill you to spend a little time with her. She is my grandmother, and it would be nice of you to brighten her day for a little while. Your father agrees with me on this.

But Mom, she doesn’t even have a TV!

That hardly matters, Mikey. Mom smiled. You’ll only be there for a little over an hour. Think about it as penance for being impertinent now.

I grabbed my jacket and got into the car but I wasn’t exactly thrilled about this. I mean, Grandma Pauline was a nice enough old lady but she was old! Every room in her house smelled like mothballs except the kitchen, which I have to admit always smelled good. And she has such a heavy accent, it is impossible to understand her. However, I guess I could humor Mom and spend an hour or so there. Not like I really had a choice about it.

Mom pulled the car into Grandma Pauline’s driveway. I got out, and went up to the kitchen door. As I was about to knock, the door opened and Grandma Pauline stepped out. She was a short woman, not even five feet tall. Her silver hair was pulled tight in a bun, and she wore a pair of silver-framed glasses that rested on her nose. On top of her floor-length blue plaid dress was Grandma Pauline’s ever-present white apron. The only time she was ever seen without her apron on was in church.

Grandma Pauline waved to my mom, who waved back, pulled the car out the driveway, and headed off, leaving me behind. Draping an arm around my shoulders, Grandma Pauline steered me into the house, the door shutting behind us. To my relief, we stayed in the kitchen, where I was overwhelmed by scents that had my nose thinking it was in a bakery.

It is good of you to come see me this afternoon, Michael, she said, her voice dripping in a thick, German accent, which was heavier than that of the Nazis on Hogan’s Heroes. I don’t get many visitors so young and handsome as you.

Thanks, Grandma Pauline, I mumbled as I fidgeted and smiled a little, since I did not know what else to say or do.

We can play cribbage to pass the time, she said. Your mother, she says you are a good cribbage player.

She dug a deck of cards and cribbage board out of a drawer and we sat at the kitchen table and played. After a quick game in which she beat me soundly, Grandma Pauline offered me some cookies and milk. Her cookies were always homemade, and no one on earth could ever bake cookies like Grandma Pauline. I gobbled two sugar cookies down in a New York minute and we resumed play. In short order, I was whipped again, but managed to avoid being skunked.

After the second game, Grandma Pauline smiled at me and asked, "You like to play the baseball, Ja?"

Yeah, I love baseball, Grandma Pauline. It’s the greatest game ever.

Your mother tells me you got the baseball fever, too. It seems like all the Geis men get it, same as the Hess men. Your mother’s cousin Peter has it. He plays for the high school team, you know. Many other men in the family have played the baseball. Your grandfather was very good when he was young. Same with most of his brothers.

Really? That’s very cool, Grandma Pauline. I can’t imagine Grandpa playing baseball.

Ach, Albrecht was a fine player. He hit many home runs. But he knew his farm work came first. But he was not the best in my family.

Who was?

Grandma Pauline got up from her chair and walked into the dining room to a curio hutch. She opened a drawer on it and took something out of it, putting it in the pocket of her apron. Then she closed the drawer and came back to me.

"The best baseball player of all of my family was my bruder Bruno. You want that I tell you about him?"

Sure! Was he really that good?

Ach, he played in the professionals. Is that good enough for you? she said with a smile and twinkle in her eyes.

Holy moley!! For real? He played in the pros? Tell me about him, please.

"Very well. It is important you know family history. You know my name was Hess before I married your mother’s grandfather, Ja? My Mutti and Vater became married in 1878. Shortly after the wedding, they departed from Deutschland for a new life in America. On the ship, they became friends with another young newlywed couple, Peter and Leona Geis. When the boat arrived in New York, the Geises went to St. Paul in Minnesota and settled in Clear Springs. Shorty after they settled here, they had a son, Matthias. My parents went with others to Chicago, where my father found work at a brewery. I was born in Chicago in 1880, the same year Matthias Geis was born. A year later, Bruno was born. After him came my other brother Fritz, followed by two sisters and another boy.

"We grew up in Chicago, where we lived until 1898, when my father decided to try Minnesota. He and Peter Geis had written to each other frequently and Peter mentioned that the small brewery in Clear Springs was expanding and needed a brewmaster. My father became the brewmaster.

"Several years before we moved, my brothers began to play the baseball game. Bruno and Fritz especially had the baseball fever. From sunup to sundown, they played the game with different gangs of baseball-playing boys and men. Countless hours they played and they became very good at the baseball. By the time they were fifteen and fourteen, they were playing with grown men all across Chicago.

"This did not sit well with my father. Most other boys their age were working, bringing home money to help their family. Because my father had a good job, we were not poor or struggling, but still he expected his sons to mature and earn a living. Many arguments took place between Father and Bruno as well as with Fritz. When we moved to Clear Springs, Bruno and Fritz did not wish to move with us. In the end, Fritz did and Father arranged for him to work at the brewery on the shipping dock. Fritz played baseball with others in Clear Springs and worked at the brewery for many years.

However, when the day came for the family to move, Bruno was nowhere to be found. The night before, he and Father had yet another argument and Bruno snuck out of the house in the middle of the night. Father was furious but could do nothing more than leave word for him to follow us to Minnesota. We got on the train, headed to St. Paul, and made our way by wagon to Clear Springs. When we settled here, Matt Geis began courting me. He was a handsome man, with jet-black hair and sparkling eyes. I fell in love and we were married in November of 1899.

I must have been rolling my eyes at this part because she stopped and laughed. Ach, young boys like you don’t want to hear stories about love and weddings and romance.

It’s OK, Grandma Pauline, but, yeah, I don’t like the mushy parts. What happened to Bruno?

"Well, when Matt and I were engaged, word got back to friends and family in Chicago. By this time, my father’s anger with Bruno had diminished, but he was still displeased. We had heard from friends and others that Bruno was being paid to play the baseball, which my father laughed off. Two months before the wedding, I received a letter from Bruno in which he asked if it was OK for him to come to my wedding. He was unsure if Father would allow him there. I asked Father if it was all right and he grudgingly permitted Bruno to come. I wrote back to Bruno that he should come for the wedding.

"Bruno arrived a week before the wedding, wearing a very nice suit. He and Father had some discussions, and Father was surprised to learn that Bruno, who was just nineteen years of age, was being paid almost one thousand dollars a year for playing the baseball. At that time, most men did not make over $500 in a year, so Bruno’s wages were wunderbar."

Wow! That is so cool! Bruno was a rich man and it was all from playing baseball!

Grandma Pauline laughed and got up and brought over more of her incredible sugar cookies and poured me some more milk. We didn’t see Bruno again for almost ten years, but he did write some, both to Father and me. By this time, he was playing for a team called the Chicago Cubs, which he played for from 1905 to 1910. He was seriously injured that last year and was unable to play again.

Wow! With the Cubs? Are they the same Cubs that are in the National League today?

Grandma Pauline chuckled and smiled. Your cousin Peter assures me that they are the same one as today. Bruno was on the team that won the World Series in 1907 and 1908. He came to visit in 1908, after their season had ended. He gave me this, and she pulled a baseball out of her apron pocket and handed it to me.

My eyes bugged out of my head and my jaw hung open. I was unable to speak. Reverently, I held the ball with both hands, totally convinced that if I dropped it, it would shatter into a bajillion pieces. I tenderly rolled the ball with my fingers, knowing I was holding a holy relic, a treasure of immeasurable value.

Then I noticed etchings on the ball. I looked to Grandma Pauline, still unable to speak. Some of his teammates signed their names on the ball, she said, pointing at the names as she read them off. Frank Chance. Joe Tinker. Mordecai Brown.

Grandma Pauline? Those guys are all in the Hall of Fame! Bruno played with them? I handed her back the ball. This is SO amazing!

I paused and thought about this new information while munching on another of the delicious sugar cookies Grandma Pauline had put out for us.Whatever happened to Bruno?

He suffered an injury to his arm and could no longer throw the baseball accurately, Grandma Pauline explained. He was no longer able to play baseball. He had no training, no education. Bruno tried a number of jobs in Chicago, even selling shoes at a cobbler’s shop, but was not successful at any of them. Sadly, he also took to the drinking. He died in 1913 of an accident with an automobile; they say his drinking led to the accident.

She wiped away a tear, and then smiled at me. "Your cousin Peter was as enthused as you are, the first time he saw this ball.

That brings me to something I was going to ask you. Peter has mowed my grass for several years. He informed me that he will not be able to do so this summer, as he has a full time job and cannot make it over as often as the lawn needs to be mowed. I know you mowed your parent’s lawn last year and Delores tells me you will be mowing for your Grandma Adeline this summer, too. Would you mow the grass for an old widow woman? I can pay you twenty-five cents each time you mow.

I could not believe this - another lawn to mow! I was going to have a lawn mowing empire! Sure, I can ride my bike over and mow it for you, if my parents say it’s OK. Wow, this is so cool. Hearing about Bruno, seeing your baseball and now this.

I discussed this with Delores when we spoke on the telephone. She is fine with the idea, but we can double check with her when she picks you up. If it is possible, could you come tomorrow after supper? Peter will come over then and can teach you how to start and operate the mower. I am an old woman, not good with things mechanical.

That sounds good to me.

So, is not so bad being here with the old woman today?

Heck no! This has been awesome.

She picked up the cards and began dealing another game of cribbage. So show me how good you are at cribbage. Make me work to win this time.

I lost again, but only by three points. Then Mom and Matty showed up, and we went home.

Was it as terrible at Grandma Pauline’s as you thought it would be? Mom asked.

Heck no, Mom. Grandma Pauline is a lot of fun. AND she asked me to mow her lawn this summer!

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The next day, Mom told me that her cousin Peter would pick me up after he got home from his baseball practice and was had eaten dinner. He would take me over to Grandma Pauline’s and show me the ropes on using her lawnmower. Peter was a junior in high school at St. Benedict, the Catholic high school in Clear Springs. Peter was the shortstop for the St. Benedict High baseball team. He was about six feet tall, with a lean, hard build, and had the same jet-black hair as my Grandpa Geis and his brother Leander, who was Peter’s dad. Peter had that natural air of confidence about him that so many high school athletes possess and he had a broad smile that came naturally to his face. I remember one of the girls who used to babysit Matty and me when we were little saying his smile was like President Kennedy’s. To me, that sounded kind of mushy, but girls think that way and say goofy things like that.

We had finished supper and Matty and I were doing the last of the dishes when Peter drove up. My folks invited him in and Dad pumped him for information on how the Bennies were doing and what Peter thought the team’s chances were in the state playoffs, which would be starting soon. Peter was confident about St Ben’s chances and told Dad that he expected them to win it all, which got a smile from my dad.

Peter and I got in his car and drove over to Grandma Pauline’s. So, Squirt, you’re going to take over doing Grandma’s lawn work? I appreciate you doing it. I wish I’d have the time to keep on with it, but once school lets out, I start working full time, doing construction work for Hauptmann’s.

That sounds neat, Peter. I won’t mess up Grandma Pauline’s. I’ve got four lawns I will be mowing this summer.

Peter laughed and tussled my hair playfully. Way to go, Mikey. You’re turning into a shrewd businessman already.

I smiled. Yeah, I guess so, but I’m not going to let it get in the way of playing baseball. I want to be as good as you when I grow up – even better than you if I can.

Thanks, Squirt, but I’m not a superstar. I’m lucky to have some very, very good teammates around me. He paused. You’re going to be in sixth-grade this fall, right?

Yep, only a couple more years till I can play on the high school team.

I’m going to be a senior next year, my last year of high school.

Are you going to play for the Twins after that?

Peter laughed. If only it was that easy. After I graduate, I am going to join the Army for two or three years. Then I will use the GI bill to go to college, probably at Saint John’s like your dad did, or St. Cloud State. I will play baseball there and maybe get lucky and get drafted by a pro franchise. If not, I will get a degree and be a coach and teacher. At least that’s the plan for now.

Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, Peter. I paused and